


Fire

by captain_othersider



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Gen, Mage Rebellion, Mage-Templar War, Mages (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 23:13:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_othersider/pseuds/captain_othersider
Summary: Three apprentices and an enchanter escaped the Circle of Ostwick.





	Fire

“Enchanter… Are we safe now?“

The campfire flame is dancing high, branches crackling and sparks flying out, but it’s not nearly enough to chase the cold away. She shudders every time the wind picks up, and so do the other two, huddling closer to each other and to the flame. 

This is the first time Gavin has spoken since they left; any of them, really. Now, the boy stretches his neck, staring expectant at Enchanter Otto, who sits on the other side of the flames. The cold doesn’t seem to bother the old elf as much; his shoulders still twitch and shiver with the wind just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t seem aware of this, nor he does make any attempts to wrap himself in his robes or get closer to the fire. The light of it reflects from his glasses, obscuring his eyes.

“Safe,“ he echoes, quiet, hoarse. “Nobody is safe, apprentice Riordan. Least of all we.“

“But we’re not being chased anymore,” Gavin insists. “That’s good.”

Otto harks out a laugh; his entire body convulses as it turns into a violent cough. Moira is just about to jump up and help him, when he straightens, gesturing to her that all is well.

“Good! There is only one reason we’re not surrounded by templars, and that is they’re too busy massacring my colleagues, and being slaughtered by them in return. Mark my words,” he says grimly, “There will be not a single living soul left in the Circle of Ostwick by dawn.“

Gavin’s expression stiffens, frozen somewhere between defiance and hurt. He settles back into place, silent, and scoots away from Moira despite the cold. This calls for a pinch of worry in the back of her mind, but Otto is unfazed; he stares the three of them down from behind the golden frame of his glasses, his frown accented by the stripe of dried blood across his temple.

“Nobody listened to me. They wanted a rebellion, bloody fools… Stop, I told them. Stop!” he snaps, so intense that Evelyn pulls back instinctively, and Moira barely stops herself from doing the same. “The templars are vultures, I told them. Praying for a chance to Annul the Circle! Don’t give them that reason, I said; be wise, as Enchanters must be!… But no.” His voice drops, from strained furious preaching to a low growl, odd and for some reason all the more terrifying in the chest of a fragile elderly mage. “They got their wish, their rebellion. And with that, they killed us. They killed themselves, they killed me… And you,“ he whispers, suddenly choked up. “They killed the _children_. What good have I done, smuggling you out, when we are all dead anyway - if not by the hand of a templar, then beasts, or maybe even other apostates!“

“Enchanter…“ Moira tries, desperately hoping to keep her voice from trembling. “Please, stop.” Stop scaring them, she wants to say. “We’ll find some safe place, I’m sure.”

At once, the Enchanter’s head turns to her, and for a moment she sees the eyes behind the reflection of flame; bloodshot, irises barely visible behind the dilated black pupils.

“Were you even _listening_?!“ he hisses. “There is no safe place, you stupid girl! When they kill all the others and burn the bodies, they’ll find us and burn _us_! A mage cannot survive outside the Circle. You… I can’t,” he finishes, almost voicelessly. The corners of his mouth twitch, and Moira catches a glimpse of a pained grimace before Enchanter Otto buries his head in his hands, and a low whine comes out as he begins rocking from side to side.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she turns to look at the other two. Evelyn is still frozen in her recoiling position, arms folded to her chest, staring horrified at the enchanter breaking down. Gavin curled up, hugging his knees, face hidden, trying stubbornly not to shiver. The campfire noises, the wind brushing through the forest and Otto’s sobbing mix into a strange uneven sound.

Is this what the end of the world looks like?

Moira blinks away tears from her own eyes; it’s just the smoke, she tells herself, and reaches for Otto’s shoulder over the campfire. She swallows, and says, in the most steady voice possible:

“Enchanter, please. Everything is going to be alright. Just tell us what to do; you know I’m a capable student. We - we need you. Please. We still can fix everything.”

“No,“ he cries. “No, no, no. Stop talking. Stop!…”

“ _Enchanter!_ “

Anger surges through her, and, terrified of herself, Moira grabs her mentor’s wrists and tears them away from his face; there’s barely any resistance at all. He slowly looks up at her, face now red and bloated, and whispers:

“This is not fair. I never got to decide my own fate. Father, the Templars, and now the blasted Libertarians! I never wanted for this, Moira. This is not fair!“

“I… I know,“ she says, “But - “

“This is _not fair!_ “ his voice rises up to a scream, as he tears his hands away from her; even more blood rushes to his face, and Moira sees veins bulging as the enchanter wrings this cry out of his chest, expression curling and twisting in a way she did not think possible, ears pressed almost flat against the sides of his head.

Then, the last bit of air in his lungs is gone, and in her own as well; Moira realizes she froze, mouth open, trembling. She hears a small popping sound suddenly, as a thin crack bisects one of Otto’s lenses; his expression, strained into a grimace of rage, relaxes and flattens at once, his jaw hanging open just like her own. His eyes drift together, staring at the crack in mute shock, almost wonder - and then drift apart, as his expression goes completely blank.

_Something -_ an impulse, a hunch, an instinct, something older and wiser than her, - springs Moira to her feet, rushes her to grab the other two and pull them up with her. Just as the first flaming crack forms across Enchanter Otto’s face, a voice she fails to recognize as her own shrieks:

**“Run!“**


End file.
